


Smack

by yeaka



Category: New Blood (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 16:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13791792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: On a case, Stefan’s baffling.





	Smack

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fair warning, this isn’t properly British.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own New Blood or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There’s nowhere to hide on the street—at least, nowhere that wouldn’t be even _more_ conspicuous than standing by the dingy, beat-up bus stop in a particularly seedy stretch of ‘stores.’ The car’s within sight of them, the grimy motel straight across, and two lanes of slow-moving traffic between. It’s after hours, but there’s no excuse for their impromptu stakeout. Not that there’s ever an excuse for the nonsense Stefan pulls him into. Arrash shifts his weight onto his other foot and hisses through his teeth, “We should go—she’ll see us.”

“She won’t,” Stefan insists, like he has absolute faith that the universe will work out for him. Arrash rolls his eyes, even though Stefan isn’t looking—he’s fixated on the foggy glass doors of the motel.

“She will, and if she recognizes me from the police and tells her boss, my job—”

He doesn’t get to finish. The redheaded secretary they’ve been tailing for the better part of the evening walks right out onto the sidewalk. The taxi she came in is already gone, but before they can see who comes to pick her up, she looks over, straight at them, and there’s not even time to dodge behind the bus stop. Arrash freezes up, and suddenly, he’s being grabbed and slammed into the plexiglass.

His first thought is that they’ve already been found out and the thugs are after them—the same two pro-wrestler types they barely escaped from yesterday—but a split second later, he realizes that _Stefan’s_ the one pinning him in place. His back’s splayed flat against the deserted booth, his front tight against Stefan’s trim body. Stefan grabs his chin while Arrash is still reeling, and the next thing he knows, they’re _kissing_.

Stefan’s _kissing him_. Arrash’s brain nearly shorts out. Stefan holds their closed lips together like they’ll both suffocate otherwise, the rest of them so close that Arrash can barely breathe. Somehow, through their too-thin jackets, Stefan’s horribly _warm_.

When Arrash finally gains control of himself, it’s only to make a garbled noise of shock, and Stefan uses the excuse to fill him up. Stefan’s slick tongue dips into his mouth, curls over his teeth, and laps at his walls with expert fervour. Arrash’s brain whispers to look at their suspect—did she see them? Does she know?—but all he can do is gape at Stefan. And then he realizes _why_ Stefan must be doing this, and he scrunches his eyes shut, because it’s going to look ridiculously conspicuous otherwise. 

He forces himself to shut his brain up and take it. It’s got to be for the job—that’s the only explanation. And it won’t fail because of him. Stefan tilts and kisses him harder, licking at his tongue, and Arrash, shuddering despite himself, actually licks back. His body just sort of clicks. He knows how to kiss. And he lets it happen—lets instinct drive him to fight Stefan back, because if they’re going to have to makeout for the sake of the case, he’s at least not going to be a precious virgin about it. Stefan’ll already make fun of him enough. 

As soon as he’s kissing back, Stefan’s hands start to wander. They graze Arrash’s sides, smoothing over his hips, pressing in just where his jacket ends, like they’re going to slip under and trace along his belt. Arrash growls into Stefan’s mouth and reaches for Stefan’s wrists, but somehow only winds up following them up. He splays his hands over Stefan’s taut chest and could swear he can feel Stefan smirking. Then Stefan thrusts a leg between his thighs, and Arrash _moans_.

One more breathless kiss, and it’s over. Stefan wrenches suddenly back, gaze tossing sideways. Arrash follows it—their suspect’s gone. Grinning way too victoriously, Stefan pants, “’Think she bought it.”

Just like that, the mood’s dead. Arrash shoves Stefan back—he stumbles a step away, just enough for Arrash to sag in place without fear of brushing against Stefan’s toned body. Even though he _knows_ , Arrash half-grumbles, half-shouts, “What’d you do that for?”

“Cover,” Stefan chirps, like it’s nothing. “What? They do it in the movies all the time. Now she’ll think we were just on a date night, if she recognizes us at all.”

“Me. If she recognizes _me_ ,” Arrash corrects, because somehow, he’s the only one that seems to face consequences at work. “And you... you _kissed me_.”

“Yeah. Lucky you.”

For a moment, Arrash just stares, while Stefan keeps up his goofy smile that really, really shouldn’t be charming. Arrash tries to read it. He’s supposed to be a detective. And a damn good one. He’s supposed to be _smart_. But sometimes Stefan makes it hard to think straight.

Finally, Arrash asks, because it’s really the only explanation for the deep tongue and wandering hands and the ease in which Stefan did it, “Do you... _like_ me?”

“No,” Stefan scoffs, even though he doesn’t look offended, like Arrash would definitely be. He even jokes, “You just sort of look like Leila.”

Which isn’t funny. At all. Arrash punches Stefan in the arm harder than he means to, and Stefan pulls back and mock winces, rubbing the wound. “Alright, alright. You’re right—I like _her_ because she looks like _you_.”

The urge to punch Stefan’s other arm rises, but that won’t get them anywhere. Not that they have anywhere to go anymore—Arrash has no idea where their suspect went, and Stefan probably doesn’t know either. He was busy tonguing his ‘friend.’ With another roll of his eyes, Arrash decides to cut his losses and turns back for the car.

A few steps in, and Stefan’s following, calling, “Rash. Hey, Rash—”

He makes the mistake of looking back. He even grunts, “What?”

Stefan tells him, “It was fun,” and swoops in to peck his cheek before rushing to the driver’s side. 

Arrash stands there for an extra few seconds, frozen in place. Some detective. He can solve the most complicated murders the police force can find, but he can’t figure out one Polish runner. Stefan grins at him through the windshield, infuriating and alluring all at once. It makes Arrash’s chest clench.

He hurries over. Maybe he can’t figure himself out either.


End file.
